Maple Scented Denial
by MemoirOfaPirate
Summary: The follow up to my oneshot, Cheated. After getting a drunk America to cheat on his fiance, England is severely depressed and lost. Desperate for America, he makes a crazy deal with Canada in order to try and quell his pain. Rated for mild sexual content.


A/N- Hello everyone! This is the sequel to "Cheated" that you've all been asking me for in your reviews (thank you very much to the 3 of you who reviewed so far). No worries. You'll get your happily ever after... Well, maybe ;)

It's looking like this is going to be a two-parter. I really got carried away with this one and I think it's much more indepth than the first one. Enjoy!~

England sank in his chair. He wanted to be _anywhere_ but the G20 meeting right now. Only 11 days had gone by since that blasted party at Korea's house, and he was in no shape to be facing his fellow countries.

He knew that everyone was stealing glances at him.

Who could blame them after what he did?

America, true to his word, had gone to his fiance Russia and told him about what had happened that night. The night of the party. Or, more accurately, the night that England spiked America's drink and gotten him in bed with him.

Yeah.

He _really_ didn't want to be here.

The first session of the meeting was shorter than usual, but to him it seemed agonizingly long. When the first recess was called, he stood abruptly and headed for the hallway, ducking into the first empty room he saw. It was gorgeous, if a bit frivolous, furnished with the finest dark wood and tasteful carvings. There was a large doorway dividing the room in two, and a balcony outside overlooking Bordeaux. He sighed heavily and sat at the large table in the second segment of the room.

What he had done was wrong. Definitely and undeniably wrong.

And the worst part was, he didn't even feel good about the memory. In fact, it left a bad taste in his mouth. America hadn't had sex with him because he loved him. Hah! He was bloody smashed, and England knew he'd do it.

After all, he watched the kid grow up. Every step of the way.

So now... Why does someone else get to dive in and take him away?

England became restless, not feeling any better sitting and stewing in his thoughts. He shoved his hands in his pockets and started to wander the halls, trying not to cry, either from shame or heartache.

"England?"

No, dammit, no. Not you. Not now.

"What is it, America?" he said wearily. He turned around to see a nervous and concerned expression.

"Oh, I- I'm Canada," the other said with a (fake?) smile. England ran his hand back through his wild hair. Damn, that boy looked just like his brother.

"I'm sorry Canada... Really, I'm sorry. What do you need?" he asked. Canada handed him a folder.

"It's the financial report you asked for from Germany. He sent me to deliver it to you," he explained. England nodded and leafed through it halfheartedly.

"Ah, yes, wonderful. I've been waiting for this. Good to see the bastard actually finished it," he said absentmindedly. Canada's face grew more concerned.

"England... are you okay?"

"W-what?" he stuttered, not expecting anybody, much less America's brother, to be on _his_ side.

"Are you okay?" Canada repeated. "You just look so crushed... I'm just making sure you're, you know, going to be all right." England sighed. He looked into Canada's face, the face that was identical to the one he so loved, and tears started rolling down his face. Canada put a hand on his shoulder.

"No, dammit, I'm not okay," he sniffled. "How could I be okay? And why do you care anyway? Aren't you supposed to be on Team America?" he tried in vain to stop the tears falling, but they just kept coming. "I mean, I don't even know your f-fucking name!" Canada waited for him to calm down before speaking again.

"I just... I've never seen anybody look so sad. And it's not like we don't have history together... I'm not indifferent to you, England. And who cares if you know my name? Nobody knows my name. Not even my own brother, for god's sake. Trust me, that's not the issue here," Canada insisted, trying to look him in the eyes. But England wouldn't look at him.

"That's stupid," he said weakly. Canada sighed.

"Think what you want. But if you ever feel like talking to someone, I'll listen." He turned and started to walk away. Halfway back to the conference room, he heard a quiet

"Thanks."

Welcome back everyone, to the second half of the meeting, The United States of America presiding!" America said enthusiatically, waving his hand above his head. The gold band on his finger caught the light perfectly. _'Is it just me, or does that ring look even shinier?'_ England thought bitterly. Russia, who had removed his gloves and was also sporting his ring, smiled calmly at the energetic blonde.

The American rattled on about something or another, but England, again, tuned him out. There were fewer glances his way this time around, which helped a little, but being in the same room with that damned couple was... maddening to say the least. Especially after the conversation he'd had with Russia the week before in London.

"_England, there you are, can I talk to you for a second?" the tall man asked. England nodded at him, inwardly quite uneasy. He'd never particularly gotten along with Russia, but now he'd really given him a reason to be pissed. And if the stories about him were true, England could potentially be in deep shit._

"_What do you need?" he asked as they went into his house. Russia just smiled._

"_My little _Америка_ tells me that you and he slept together a few nights ago at a certain Korea's party, da?" He said it calmly, but something in his voice seemed ominous. And England did _not_ want to hear him call America 'his'. He swallowed hard. _

"_Yes. We did."_

"_Hmm," Russia mused. "And was America... drunk, by any chance?" He still hadn't lost his cool, but the atmosphere seemed to grow darker around them. England could do nothing but tell the truth._

"_He was."_

"_And what had America had to drink, England?"_

"_Th-three shots of gin." Russia smirked._

"_Are you sure?" he asked devilishly. England took a discreet step backwards._

"_Yes. I'm sure," he said solemnly. All of a sudden, Russia's eyes were violent and cold. All traces of a smile were gone._

"_And why is that England? You want to tell me about that part?" he snarled, causing the Brit to shrink back a little more._

"_I... I made sure he drank it all," he said. Russia backed him into the wall, hands forcefully pinning him by the shoulders. His face was unsettlingly close._

"_...Go on." England swallowed again. _

"_I dropped the shots into his drink," he said nervously. "I'm sure he told you about the bucket." Russia nodded, but his intense glare told England he'd better continue. "He had asked if anyone would bet him he couldn't finish it... so I bet him."_

"_...Knowing that he couldn't resist a challenge," Russia said, his voice laced with venom and disgust._

"_Yes," England continued in monotone. "Once he was drunk, it was easy to convince him to come to bed with me. I doubt he even remembers a thing." Russia stepped back and allowed him to fully stand up. _

"_It is as I thought," he said. And with one more warning glance as he headed for the door, "Thank you for your time, England." The door shut firmly behind him, and England slid down the wall, holding his head. _

Needless to say, he didn't want to see either of them. They both knew what he'd done. And surely, so did everybody else in the room. At the end of the meeting, he was the first to stand again, already halfway out the door when someone called his name.

"England, wait!" he turned. It was Canada.

"What is it?" he asked exasperatedly. Canada gathered his materials and joined him in the doorway, motioning for him to keep walking. England happily obliged, and the two of them made their way down the main corridor until they reached the stairs, which took them down into an elaborate and beautiful garden. Okay. Maybe France did have good taste... sometimes.

"What is it?" England repeated once they stopped.

"I guess... I just can't stop worrying about you. Will you come to lunch with me tomorrow? We don't have to talk about... that. Just something to keep your mind off of it," Canada said hopefully. England sighed.

"I still don't get why you're wasting your time with me... but sure. Fine. I'll go to lunch with you. Where do you want to go?" he gave in. Canada smiled.

"There's a wonderful crepe shop in downtown Bordeaux. Will you meet me there at noon?" he asked somewhat shyly. England nodded.

"I'll be there. But for now I need to get back to my hotel and sort through this report. Good day, Canada." With a nod of his head, he left the blonde in the garden alone. He couldn't see how staring into America's face (well, his twin's anyway) was going to help cheer him up, but he didn't care anymore. He liked French crepes. And he had already figured out that thinking didn't help.

"England, you're here early," Canada said cheerfully. England stood up from leaning against the building. Instead of the formal attire he usually wore when Canada saw him, he had on a tight white t-shirt and a silver chain around his neck. His pants were snug, but looser at his feet.

"I'm always early," he said with a shrug. "Come on, let's order." Canada followed him into the building. The line was surprisingly short, and when it was their turn, England still had no idea what he wanted.

"Uhh, cherries, but wait, no no, I think the blackberries are better this time of year... oh oh, no I want strawberries! Wait, can I get both? No, forget the strawberries, I want cherries and blackberries. I can get all three, right? Maybe-"

"Je ne comprends pas," the girl behind the counter said nervously. England looked at Canada.

"She doesn't understand you," he said. England blushed.

"_You_ order it, then," he hissed. Canada just smiled. He turned to the girl and ordered their crepes in fluid French.

"Merci," Canada said as the girl handed them their crepes. England's face lit up when he saw his. It had perfect strawberries, cherries, and blackberries, and it was sprinkled with just the perfect amount of sugar. They took their plates to an outdoor table and began to eat. They were delicious.

"Mmmm," England said happily. "This is amazing. You were right about this place Ame- I'm sorry... Canada."

"It's okay," he said automatically. "But yeah, I've come here every single time I've been in Bordeaux."

England sighed.

"You look just like him," he said sadly.

"I know. I'm sorry," said Canada. The pain was obvious in England's eyes. "You really love him, don't you?"

"Yes I really love him!" he snapped. Then sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't... I should go back to the hotel. This was-"

"I could be your America." England stared. And Canada turned bright red. What exactly had made him say that? That was the question running through both of their heads.

"Be my... America..." England said detachedly. "You would do that for me?" The look in his eyes was so helpless that Canada couldn't bring himself to take back his statement. Oh, what was he about to get himself into? He swallowed.

"Yes." he said quietly.

The second meeting of the G20 summit was hardly relevant to England's interests. The conversation derailed into a personal finance issue between America and South Africa, and nobody else had anything better to talk about, apparently, because this continued for the entire first half. When Japan called for the first recess, England stood up.

"Well, now that all of us besides America and South Africa have accomplished nothing, you bloody idiots. Next time let's focus on the issues at hand," he said in his usual irritable tone. If he had been paying attention, he would have noticed a few other nations looking quite pleased to see him back to normal.

"Well, _England,_ if you want something done, do it yourself," America said, sticking out his tongue. England scowled and ignored him. He organized his things (not difficult, considering he had done nothing) and followed after Canada, who had already left the room.

"Let's talk in private," the Canadian suggested. They entered the same room that England had sulked in during the previous session. Canada sat on a couch in the second section, and England stood beside him, arms crossed.

"I'll go first," said England. "What exactly did you mean when you said you'd 'Be my America'?" Canada flushed pink.

"I.. I wasn't really thinking when I said it. I guess I- because I look just like him and all, I don't know," he stuttered, his face becoming redder with every word. England raised one thick eyebrow.

"Are you suggesting that we date?" he inquired. The other blonde swallowed hard.

"Well, not necessarily, I mean I'm a separate country, the only thing that's the same is... my body."

"You're suggesting that we just fuck."

"...I suppose.. that is what I'm suggesting," he admitted. England ran his fingers through his short hair. Canada, even with his hair longer than his twin's, was still _identical_ to America. Hell, they even both wore glasses. The only difference was those weird purple eyes. But if they were closed in pleasure and ecstasy...

"Fine. I'll do it," he said. "But what do you get out of this? It still doesn't make sense." Canada, whose face was still afire, looked up at him.

"I don't know," he said matter-of-factly. England scoffed.

"Suit yourself," he said. Canada stood up abruptly. He slid his arms beneath England's and pulled him into a hug. Startled, the Brit reacted late, but returned the hug. Canada wasn't as tall as his brother, he noted, but when they were lying down, it wouldn't matter anyway. He held the other man's face in his hands and kissed him, softly. He felt the heat from Canada's blushing face on his own as he brushed his lips across the other's mouth. They were the same lips. The same lips as America's. He kissed him harder, and they stumbled back onto the fancy carved wooden table.

"Ah... England, I," Canada said after they parted. He was now over top of the other man, whose tie was splayed haphazardly across his chest.

"What is it?' he asked.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Canada said uneasily. "What if it only ends up hurting you?" England sighed.

"It's a little late for that," he said quietly. "Maybe I'll regret it later, but... for right now, it's better than this empty void in my chest." Canada nodded. England reached up and removed the other man's tie, tossing it onto the floor. He undid as many buttons as were above his belt, exposing his bare chest. He breathed in sharply. Canada wasn't cut like America, but he was buff. Same curves, same pale skin, it was all so beautiful. Canada removed his suit jacket on his own, and set to work undoing England's pants as the Brit took care of loosening his own tie and undoing the first three of his buttons.

Nervously, Canada leaned down to the exposed collarbone and began to nip and suck there. England took this opportunity to pull the Canadian's shirt out of his pants and discard it. He wanted to see those shoulders. And oh, did they look amazing. He moaned softly as the other nation left love bites along his collarbone, holding his blonde head against his skin.

France was bored just sitting in the conference room alone. This recess was longer than usual, and everyone had left to wander his building. He sighed and stood up, stretching. The sitting room by the conference hall had a lovely balcony, perhaps he would go enjoy the view over a cigarette.

The carved wooden door cracked open silently. And suddenly, with it out of the way, France could hear things he couldn't before.

"Ahhhh, ohh, that's it,"

"Mm! It hurts... Oh,"

Now _this_ piqued his curiosity. He opened the door further. His eyes widened in horror, surprise, and amusement at the sight. America was riding England. England, who he had thought would never _not_ take it in the ass, of course, and America blushing on top of him. America was naked, while England still had his unbuttoned shirt and his pants halfway down his legs.

France giggled to himself, but then a sudden realization dawned on him.

Russia.

If America was cheating on Russia with England _again_, this meeting was about to be a whole lot more complicated.

Usually, he was the one who would keep secrets and play games, or maybe try to get in on it (threesome, anyone?), but he didn't want to fuck with Russia's emotions. He wasn't quite that stupid.

He sighed heavily and headed back to the conference room to think, but before he could get there, he bumped right into... America? Or was it Canada? No, he was wearing a shirt with a freaking American flag. So then...

Who the hell was England having sex with?

His face paled significantly.

"Oops, sorry France," America said. "Hey, are you sick? Your face just went white." France shook his head.

"I'm not sick. I'm fine. How are you America?" he asked halfheartedly. America grinned.

"I'm doing a lot better," he said cheerfully. "Russia and I went out last night to see the city. I think he's feeling better about the incident at the party, which makes everything a lot easier." France smiled a weak smile.

"That's good to hear America," he said. "See you at the second session." He continued into the conference hall and sat down with a heavy sigh. Oh, his adorable Canada...

"America~!" England cried as he orgasmed deep within Canada. Canada had already come, and climbed off of him, wiping the sweat from his brow. England stood up and fixed his clothes without a word, and handed Canada his.

They were silent for a few long moments. What was there to say?

"The recess is nearly over," Canada said after dressing. His tone was flat, but not unhappy.

"We should be getting back soon, it's best to be early," said England. He reached up and straightened Canada's mussy hair, and the younger nation blushed.

"What's your problem?" he asked bluntly. Canada touched his face in embarrassment.

"Oh, it's just a little weird having you fixing my hair for me," he explained. England shrugged, checked his own hair in a nearby wall mirror (it was wild as usual, no surprise there), and left the room without another word. Canada felt bad about leaving the table all sweaty and had-sex-upon, but the meeting was starting and he didn't want to be late. He was the last to arrive, shortly after England, for the second half of the meeting.

"Canada, you're sitting very strangely," Russia said to him cheerfully. Canada blushed. His butt hurt. He was propped up on one hip with his legs crossed, like a girl who'd run out of supplies.

"Oh, it's comfortable," he explained lamely. Hey, at least Russia had remembered who he was. Of course, he would know his fiance when he saw him. Russia grinned.

"Comfortable, da? I see." Canada felt a little uneasy, but then again, he knew Russia was a little weird. He nodded dismissively and opened up his notes. The meeting really didn't concern him at all, but he scribbled something down anyway just to look busy.

England watched as Canada fidgeted and wrote at the other end of the table, obviously uncomfortable. He sighed to himself. Maybe it was wrong to use Canada like that. But the bliss of seeing America's face contort in pleasure...

England! You're an idiot, so I'll get you over with. What do you have to say about today's topics?" America called. England stood up and glared in irritation at the overconfident nation. Again, that ring stared him straight in the face.

"I have not prepared a statement," he said tersely. He looked at America expectantly.

"Awesome. Sit down. Next! Japan!"

England promptly tuned out the next few hours' discussion. He wanted out of this building, now! A comfortable hotel bed was waiting for him only a block away, and he could use a good nap after the afternoon's events.

"Canada! Talk to me bro!" America said, jabbing a finger at his twin brother. Canada stood up and cleared his throat.

"With all due respect, this meeting doesn't concern me, and I think it best not to interject myself where I don't-  
"Alrighty, next?" America said loudly. England stood up abruptly.

"For the love of god, at least let the boy finish his _one _sentence, you ingrate!" England protested. Canada sat down awkwardly and stared at his notes again. Nobody said anything, and eventually the Brit took his seat, looking flustered. America shrugged, and continued conducting the meeting until the end of the session.

"England, wait!" France called as he ran down the hall toward the shorter man. England was headed very quickly for a cab outside. He ignored the host, until he caught up with him and grabbed his shoulder.

"What, you bloody git?" he snapped. France looked worried and a little upset, which caught England way off guard. "The hell is wrong with you?"

"What's going on with you and Canada?" he asked wistfully. England raised one large eyebrow.

"Canada? I just had the common decency to give the floor back to the one speak-"

"I saw you with him during recess."

"...Oh."

There was a long silence in which neither nation could find the proper words to say. The cab honked its horn and England turned to go, but France stopped him.

"I swear, if you're using that boy..." he hissed.  
"It's Canada's and my business, frog," England spat back.

"Just be kind to him... he really is a good kid." England scoffed and headed to his cab. The last person he needed involved in this was France. He was eternally grateful to escape when he snuggled into his bed for a long, much needed nap.


End file.
